


The Legend of Turbovicki

by demalore



Category: Monster Factory - Polygon (Web Series)
Genre: Animal Death, F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-06-10 23:16:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19518679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demalore/pseuds/demalore
Summary: Vicki dreamt of a deathless land where she could test the limits of her physical ability. A land where one did not need to constantly fend off monsters for survival, and did not need to fight at all, if one so wished. A land where fighting was not the sole activity, but one of many, each more competitive than the last.Vicki dreamed...of sports.





	1. Swords

Vicki swung her sword through the Silverbeast's flesh, reducing it to a shrieking cloud of smoke. Her round, bright-red blade was as clean and unmarked as ever, in stark contrast to the grizzled, unsettlingly detailed world around her. Her weapon could hardly be called a 'blade' at all. There was no sharp edge that Vicki could see, but it got the job done well enough.

Vicki was skilled in using her mysterious weapon on the endlessly-spawning monsters she encountered on a daily basis, but found it unsatisfying. She had never lost a battle, not once. She had never even bled—wasn't sure if she could bleed, to be honest. The unintelligent monsters were too predictable, no match for her expert swordsmanship. She yearned for a worthy opponent, but who?

Blows were as fatal to the other warriors of Bloodborne as they were to the monsters, and Vicki didn't wish to kill them, anyhow. Violence was a necessary element of her life, but it was a crude substitute for what she truly desired.

Vicki dreamt of a deathless land where she could test the limits of her physical ability. A land where one did not need to constantly fend off monsters for survival, and did not need to fight at all, if one so wished. A land where fighting was not the sole activity, but one of many, each more competitive than the last.

Vicki dreamed...of _sports_.

Such a word did not exist in Bloodborne. Survival superseded every other dream and desire. Vicki often tried befriending the other warriors, to speak of her impossible dream, but they had no time for such things. Their only desire was to kill, to protect themselves, by any means necessary.

Everyone, save for one very strange, very colorful man.

"What happened to your shirt?" Vicki asked the blue-haired, red-faced stranger. He stuck out from the crowd, not only because of his garish appearance, but because he was verbally assaulting the other players in a fiery passion.

"No guns, just fun!" Toucan Dan yelled at a gun-toting warrior. They paid Toucan Dan little regard, and continued firing rounds at the approaching monsters. Toucan Dan seemed not to care at all about the dangerous foes approaching, instead focusing all of his explosive energy on the offending weapon.

"Excuse me," Vicki tried to tap Toucan Dan on the shoulder, but her incredible strength sent him reeling instead.

Toucan Dan recovered, and looked Vicki over with a surprisingly cheerful demeanor. "Aha, a fellow gun-hater. It's so rewarding to see someone finally heeding my message."

Vicki glanced down at her sword. Strange as the weapon was, it was certainly no gun. "I've just always had this sword." Dropping her gaze to her spherical hand, she realized she probably couldn't hold a gun even if she wanted to.

Toucan Dan nodded sagely. "A fine weapon. Not a chamber nor bullet to be seen."

"I guess," Vicki shrugged. This guy was weird, but he was the first person she could talk to without being interrupted by a monster fight. There was no possible way the two of them could be related by blood—Vicki was pretty sure everyone in Bloodborne had dead parents—but she felt a strange kinship with him. As though they had been created for a shared purpose.

"Why are you so against guns, anyway?" Vicki asked. She had no strong opinions about guns. She could appreciate good marksmanship, regardless of the weapon involved.

Toucan Dan shook his head in disgust. "I _hate_ guns."

"Yeah, but why?" Even Vicki had to admit that guns could be useful. Especially here in Bloodborne, where you were basically dead if you didn't use one.

Toucan Dan had to stop to consider this. He had just decided one day that guns were bad, without any real reasoning behind it. "Well, they're so violent."

Vicki nodded. This entire world was incredibly violent, and she, too, did not particularly care for it.

Toucan Dan continued, "They're just not very sporting, are they?"

There was that word again, a word that rung through Vicki's head like a clapper in a bell. All this time, she had thought she was making it up. "Sporting?" She blurt.

"Yeah." Toucan Dan's train of reasoning was picking up speed now. "Using a gun when the monsters have to use melee weapons, or their bare hands? Seems like bad sportsmanship."

_Sportsmanship_. Vicki had only a vague idea what that was, but she wanted it. All of it. "Can you teach me? Sportsmanship, I mean?"

Toucan Dan looked Vicki over once more. "I see. I suspected that you were another like me, but had taken you only for a particularly ugly creation."

"Thank you." Vicki took pride in her small, flat face and her conical body.

"But there is more that makes you different," Toucan Dan continued. "You are not a warrior at all, are you?"

Vicki, like everyone else in Bloodborne, had popped into existence with a weapon in her hand and a barrage of monsters to fight. She had never considered that this might not be her true home. But, no, she had always dreamed of more than this. The Toucan Man was right. "No, I'm not."

"I cannot teach you sportsmanship, not here. But there are other places, lands beyond Bloodborne, where the people play sports instead of killing monsters."

A sunburst of hope filled Vicki's chest. "Will you take me there?"

Toucan Dan shook his head. "I must stay here to continue my crusade against guns. These people must learn."

"Then how will I get there?"

Toucan Dan tapped his huge, triangular schnozz. "Just follow your nose!"

Vicki nodded, determined. "I will, Toucan Dan."

"And always remember, Vicky," Toucan Dan said tenderly. "No guns, just fun."

"I know, Dan."

"Crime never wins. Drugs aren't your friend."

"Thanks, Dan."

Toucan Dan's bulbous red face twisted into an uncomfortable smile. "Please. You can call me...Toucan _Dad_."

Vicki smiled back. "No. No, I don't think so."

"Fair enough." Toucan Dan waved in a random direction. "Now go, Vicki, and spread the good news of guns being bad!"

Vicki ran off, following the warm feeling in her chest. Without breaking her incredible speed, she called back, "I super won't, but thanks anyway!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to [llybian on tumblr](https://llybian.tumblr.com/post/186681136066/llybian-turbovicki-aesthetic-lkjlkdsa-ok-i-have) for letting me use their Turbovicki moodboard as a cover for this fic. Sorry i couldn't find a better way to incorporate it lol


	2. Baskets Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She knew that this 'Stang' was to be her teammate, one of her first ever teammates, but she couldn't see herself playing alongside him. But that wouldn't stop her from mastering this sport of 'basketball'. With her physical prowess, it should be no problem. Outperforming Stang could be as sweet a victory as any other. 
> 
> Coach blew his whistle, and Vicki's heart pounded faster. 
> 
> This was it. This was sports.

"You're letting _her_ play? For one, she's a _girl._ And B, she doesn't even go to college here!"

Coach tapped his clipboard importantly. "Pickings are slim this year. _Real_ slim. They're even letting _him_ -"

A hulking shadow cut Coach off just in time.

"Who are you talking about?" Stang growled. He appeared angry, brooding, but he usually looked like that.

Both Coach and the player were silent. Stang was notorious for being the worst basketball player basically ever, yet he kept making it onto the court, for reasons beyond their combined comprehension. It was a fact as clear as Stang's jutting, Neanderthal-like forehead, yet, much like that same forehead and his resemblance to the artist Sting, it wasn't something one dared mention to Stang's face.

"We're, ah, getting a new player," Coach fumbled for a quick change of topic. "Her name is Vicki."

"We don't need new players," Stang snarled, either conveniently forgetting that he was constantly running into, jumping on, and (allegedly) eating other players, or wrongfully asserting that he was the only basketball player who mattered.

"Hey, give her a chance, Stang," said the other player, who had no name because he wasn't funny or disfigured enough to have one.

"I am _not_ playing with a girl."

"I am no girl," Vicki proclaimed from the locker room door. Even dressed in basketball gear, more revealing than her original red garb, she was perfectly shapeless, genderless. Just how she liked it.

"But your name is _Vicki,"_ Stang disagreed, lumbering toward Vicki.

"I'm no _girl,_ " Vicki repeated acidly. Here, as in Bloodborne, she was much taller than average, and had the pleasure of looking down into Stang's beady little eyes.

Vicki was torn. She knew that this 'Stang' was to be her teammate, one of her _first ever_ teammates, but she couldn't see herself playing alongside him. From the look on Other Player's face, the feeling was mutual.

But that wouldn't stop her from mastering this sport of 'basketball'. With her physical prowess, it should be no problem. Outperforming Stang could be as sweet a victory as any other.

"Work it out, you two," the Coach said unhopefully, "game's about to start." He blew his whistle, and Vicki's heart pounded faster.

This was it. This was sports.

Vicki started on the bench, which bummed her out at first, but she realized it provided a perfect opportunity to learn was basketball was. It involved running, which she was already great at, given her life of dodging monsters. There was a nonlethal combat element as well, but the rules were not immediately clear to her. It was as if the players had to pretend _not_ to be fighting each other when they were clearly battling for dominance.

The most important element, though, was the _ball_.

Vicki fell in love with it the moment she saw it. It had no purpose she could deduce, but she loved it all the same. The agreed-upon value of the object combined with its utter uselessness: this, Vicki was sure, was the meaning of _sports._

Stang was benched before long, after committing a dozen basketball atrocities that would get any other player banned for life. At one point he ran headlong toward the crowd for no other reason than to startle them. Vicki simmered with anger, but kept her cool and stood calmly from the bench.

"I don't need to bother sitting down," Stang hissed in her ear. "I'll just come right back in to clean up your mess."

Vicki gulped. Stang was, she had decided, a moron, but he had a point. She had never played basketball, and yet, somehow, she was about to play for a nationally-ranked college team.

Would her love of sports really be enough to bring her to victory? As Vicki llned up to shoot her first ever free-throw, she had every confidence that, yes, it would.

The basketball grazed the headboard, missing the net entirely. Vicki froze where she stood, raised onto her toes, arms in the air.

Stang barked out a vengeful laugh from the bench while the other players clapped politely. Vicki felt her confidence melting onto the slick wood floor.

Vicki's next two freethrows were no better than the first. It was as though the ball magnetically repelled from the hoop. A whistle blew, and the ball was tossed to the opposing team.

As the players clustered around the ball, Vicki hung toward the back, coming to terms with her basket-fail. What horrible disappointment. She was tempted to give up and return to Bloodborne, where she could work out her frustration on an unsuspecting rabid Dog.

Stang smirked at her from the bench, making rude faces at her as she ran by.

Vicki did not return Stang's childishness, only stood up a bit straighter. She remembered why she had left Bloodborne in the first place: not for victory, but for sportsmanship. Win or lose, Vicki could take pride in a game well-played and respect for her fellow players. Something Stang could never understand.

With newfound confidence, Vicki played harder, watching her teammates and learning from their example. The formerly byzantine rules of basketball became clear, taking a place in her brain that had always been reserved for sports knowledge. Vicki's height and size were inherent advantages, and before long Vicki made her first nasty dunk, to the delight of the crowd.

Stang was the only person left unimpressed. "Let Stang plaaaaay!" He whined with glass-shattering pitifulness. Vicki found it hard to focus with such pitiful moaning. Even Coach found it unbearable, and let Stang back into the game just to shut him up.

Stang made a beeline for Vicki, utterly forgoing his assigned position. "You think you're hot shit, huh?" Stang rasped. "Well I'm going to make you regret ever learning the word 'dunk'."

"At least I _can_ dunk," Vicki snarled back, allowing herself this one juicy morsel of unsportsmanlike conduct.

Something snapped in Stang's unsettlingly shaped face. He pushed Vicki across the court, bringing the basketball game around them to a screeching halt.

"You might be like me," Stang acknowledged, staring down at where Vicki had fallen, "but that only means I can beat your ass for real, unlike these wimpy NPC's."

Stang reared back a fist, but his blow was blocked by a flash of red. Vicki's sword, appearing from nowhere, was clutched in her hand, pointed straight at Stang.

For the first time, there was a flash of fear in Stang's eyes. "What...this isn't basketball!"

"No. This is swords." Vicki's swordsman skills slotted back into place, and in three blurry movements she parried Stang's arm and sent him to the floor, Vicki's rounded sword tucked beneath his chin.

"I may not be the best at basketball," Vicki announced, not only to Stang but to the entire arena of awestruck faces. "But I seek only sportsmanship, and that makes me the greatest basketball player of all."

"Actually-" Other Player started to correct, before being shushed by the rest of the team.

"This is indeed a sport, but it still reeks of combat, of divisiveness among teammates. " Looking down over her nose at Stang, she sneered, "any sport that allows one such as you to play is no sport of mine."

Stang grimaced, but didn't dare move his head away from her sword, which may or may not be sharp. "You're just a sore loser, girl."

"I may have lost, but I am no girl."

"Uh, guys, the game's still going-" Other Player interrupted, but was once again shushed.

"I now travel elsewhere, to a place devoid of such childish frills as ranking and recruitment," Vicki said definitively. "And I invite anyone else seeking sportsmanship to join me in my quest."

Vicki left, leaving the players and spectators awestruck until Other Player, once again, suggested they restart the game. Stang, too shaken to put up a fight, took his seat on the bench. He was pretty stupid, but even he knew that being able to play two different sports was virtually unheard of, a talent reserved for a chosen few.

Perhaps Stang could not defeat Vicki, but he knew someone who could.


	3. Wrasslin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "A Monster?" 
> 
> "Yeah, like, you look weird, and you can do weird shit?" 
> 
> Vicki looked herself over. Weird appearance, check. Did loving sports count as weird? Because then, big big check.

Vicki stared down the crowd of combatants. Wrestling was more readily familiar to her than basketball had been, but these individuals seemed much more proficient at their craft than Stang had been. Just about anyone was better than Stang at everything, but still. These were some good good wrestle boys. 

One of the wrestlers waved her down. His face appeared to have been smeared on both sides, creating bizarre flesh spikes. Vicki wasn’t entirely convinced it was part of the costume, which was ridiculous enough on its own. Oddities aside, Vicki felt as though she already knew him.

"Eyy, Turbovicki," the stranger said, "where's your mom?" 

"It's just Vicki," Vicki corrected. "And I don't have a mom." 

"Oh dunk, my bad," Jorstin apologized. "Must've got my timelines mixed up again." He started to walk away, overcome by the horrible social anxiety of getting a person's name wrong. 

"Timelines? Wait," Vicki stopped Jorstin from leaving by grabbing his furry tail. "You're saying there's other realities? And there's one where I have a mom?" 

"Uhh..." Jorstin stopped to think. He had to concentrate deeply, as though pulling the information up from a deep well of eldritch knowledge. "Yeah, but you have mom in this one, too, Turbovicki." 

"That's not possible. People from Bloodborne don't have living parents." 

"You're not from Bloodborne, though," Jorstin said matter-of-factly, confident in his video game knowledge. "I've played Bloodborne, and you're defo not in it." 

Jorstin was more knowledgeable than his outlandish appearance made him out to be. "Who are you? How do you know all this?" 

"I'm Jorstin. I'm a Monster, like you." 

So that familiarity, the same she had felt with Toucan Dan and Stang, had a name. "A Monster?" 

"Yeah, like, you look weird, and you can do weird shit?" 

Vicki looked herself over. Weird appearance, check. Did loving sports count as weird? Because then, big big check. 

"What's 'weird shit' can you do?" Vicki asked Jorstin. His zigzag face was easily enough to fit the first criterion. 

"So, I'm Jorstin, right? But it's like, I'm _supposed_ to be someone else. I dunno if shit went south, or I'm a reincarnation, but there's some guy named 'Justin' out there, and I have some of his memories. Weird, right?" 

"Yeah. 'Justin''s a pretty weird name." 

"Yeah, but it's worth it. You heard of the movie 'Trolls'?" 

"What's a 'movie'?" 

"Aw damn. You're missing out." 

A bell chimed, and Vicki realized that her wrestling match was about to start. Resolving to speak to Jorstin more later, she lifted the ring ropes and ducked through. 

The announcer repeated the name "Christopher" for a good ten minutes, giving Vicki time to size up her opponent. The Pebble glowered up at her, standing a good three feet shorter than Vicki. That should've assured Vicki of her victory, but the man was wide and beefy, round like his namesake. Not least of all, Vicki recognized him as a fellow Monster. Did he have supernatural abilities, like Jorstin, or was he just another disfigured meathead, like Stang? 

Vicki quickly learned that The Pebble fell into the later category. His spindly limbs were difficult to get a hold on, but were not strong enough to grapple with Vicki's raw strength. The Pebble's wrestling skill far outweighed Vicki's novice knowledge, but she learned more with every punch ducked and leg un-swept. 

In fact, there was something about wrestling that felt familiar. Not wrestling The Pebble, specifically, but the ring, and the act of unarmed combat. She glanced at the Pebble's sweaty face, and for a brief second, saw a taller, more humanly-proportioned figure with a jarringly familiar smile. 

_Mom_. 

Vicki pinned The Pebble to the ground, but her thoughts were elsewhere, flying back through one of the alternate timelines Jorstin had mentioned. She had been in this ring before, or a reflection of it, wrestling a heavily-scarred, black-haired woman. Vicki had fought until she had been reduced to using a sledgehammer hidden under the ring, and only then did Vicki's opponent show her true strength, beating Vicki into both physical and moral submission. 

More memories unfurled after that one: a grisly biking accident, a sword fight against dozens of vengeful opponents, a pair of bespectacled eyes watching her every move, waiting for her downfall- 

These were not her memories, Vicki realized with a start. They were the memories of her ancestors—related not by blood, but by an unmatched love of sportsmanship and a foreboding prefix. 

These were the memories of the Turbofamily. 

"I'm not Vicki," Vicki gasped, still standing atop the fallen Pebble. The present scene flashed back into place around her, but visions of the past still swam before Vicki's eyes. "I'm _Turbo_ Vicki." 

"Told you," Jorstin yelled from the sidelines. 

"That's my girl!" Toucan Dan added on. 

"Not a girl!" Turbovicki yelled back. "And you're not my dad!" Turbovicki scrambled through the ring ropes and found where Toucan Dan had been spectating. "What are you doing here? Why aren't you in Bloodborne?" 

"It's a crossover episode!" Toucan Dan said. "Lots of Monsters are here: "Squirtle", Randy Johnson, Arby of course-" 

Turbovicki zoned out as Toucan Dan continued to list names. So the other Monsters could travel between worlds, too, when it suited them. And both she and Jorstin had memories that predated their respective existences. But why? Jorstin seemed content with his exclusive knowledge of Trolls and cereal, but Turbovicki was certain that her abilities were meant to be used for more. 

"Stay here for a bit," Toucan Dan offered, interrupting her thoughts. "The more Monsters, the merrier!" 

"Thanks, but no thanks," Turbovicki answered. She didn't yet know what game she was from originally, but it certainly wasn't WWE. This game, like Bloodborne, reeked of violence. And based on Turbovicki's recently-recovered memory, it tended to attract unsportsmanlike conduct, even from Turbovicki herself.

Whatever her purpose, it lied within the mystery of her origin, and why it was hidden even from her. 

With a dozen Monsters milling around the ring, it was easy to overlook the spectators. Most were unremarkable, their only oddities being the bizarre hand motions they made as they cheered, but one person stood out. Unlike the other audience members, his features were rounded, cartoonish, similar to those of the wrestler who had just taken her leave of the ring. 

She was the one he had been seeking. He watched her go, but made no move to follow. Not yet. There were only a handful of places she could be going. He knew his quarry well, and one thing was constant across all lifetimes. She was seeking sports. 

The man chuckled to himself. This time, the Turbochild would not escape his clutches. " _Cheney..."_


	4. Throwing Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m afraid I have no sports knowledge to share with you."
> 
> “But you’re beefed out to the max, dude. You gotta be good at something.”
> 
> “I am good at throwing.”
> 
> “Throwing what?”
> 
> “Everything.”

Turbovicki awoke in a shallow pool of water. She could see no end to it, as though it covered the surface of the entire world. Silvery figures lumbered slowly around her, with as much meaningless deliberation as planets orbitting a star.

This game had been rumored to have the same degree of violence as Turbovicki’s adopted homeland, but Dragon’s Dogma looked lame as hell so far. She couldn’t even punch any of the ghostly figures. Neither they, nor Turbovicki herself, were fully corporeal.

 _That sucks,_ Turbovicki thought. _Having no physical form is going to make playing sports a little bit tougher._

Turbovicki wandered the watery void until a flash of motion caught her interest. A colored, fully-fleshed figure was sprinting across the barren landscape. There was no telling whether they were friend or foe, but Turbovicki knew well the single rule uniting every game she had traveled through: colorful things were always important.

Randy Johnson was hurriedly looking for potential party members. She had recently had to throw Leucetius to the eels to punish him for constantly complaining about being thrown so much. Such disobedience did not sit well with Randy Johnson, all-star pitcher for the...Diamondbacks, maybe?

The pitcher’s attention turned to the potential pawn running in her direction. In this limitless pool of unclaimed souls, this candidate’s musculature was comparable only Randy’s own. She was also quite round. Ideal for throwing.

“Young one,” Randy Johnson called to the eager individual. “You wish to join the party of Randy Johnson?”

“That depends,” Turbovicki answered, standing proudly before the towering pitcher. This was the first person in Turbovicki’s memory that she actually had to look _up_ to. This woman must indeed be a great warrior. “Can you teach me a sports?”

Randy Johnson pondered this. There were no sports in Dragon’s Dogma, to Randy’s knowledge, although she felt that she should know about at least one sport. The name of it was on the tip of her tongue...something to do with throwing spherical objects…

“I’m afraid I have no sports knowledge to share with you,” Randy said dejectedly. The fact that she couldn’t remember the name of a single sport was irking her. She’d have to throw someone off a cliff ASAP to work it out.

Turbovicki was skeptical. “But you’re beefed out to the max, dude. You gotta be good at _something_.”

“I am good at throwing.”

“Throwing what?”

“Everything,” Randy Johnson boomed. Everyone in a quarter-mile radius looked over their shoulder, suddenly certain that a pair of giant arms were poised to throw them off the nearest cliff.

“Throwing can be a sport,” Turbovicki said with unearned confidence. There was some throwing in basketball, and Turbovicki just assumed that there were other sports that involved throwing as well. Perhaps something with a smaller ball, and a glove for catching it...

Randy Johnson nodded in delighted approval. “You may join my team, and I promise I will only throw you a little.”

Turbovicki looked up into Randy Johnson’s dour expression, and thought she caught a mischievous glint in her single, scarred working eye. She had only known Randy for a minute, but Turbovicki knew that getting thrown around was just something she’d have to accept. “Not if I throw you first,” she joked back.

Randy Johnson chuckled. “You have the fighting spirit, young one. I will throw you only at the choicest of enemies.”

“What sort of baddies do you have in Dragon’s Dogma, anyway?”

“Wolves,” Randy Johnson said gravely. “Lots of wolves.”

“Wolves don’t sound too bad.” They were basically canon fodder back in Bloodborne. Turbovicki could easily take a few out before breakfast.

“No, you must understand.” Randy Johnson took a knee to speak to Turbovicki at eye level, her nose pressed right against where Turbovicki’s would be if it wasn’t just a dot. “So. Many. Fucking. Wolves.”

Turbovicki didn’t flinch. This woman was indeed imposing. A worthy teacher of this yet-to-be-named sport.

Randy Johnson had not been kidding about the wolves. Before Randy could finish introducing Turbovicki to the other party members--her sweet baseball son Panpan and, of course, the magnificent Dr. Phil—a swarm of wolves descended on them.

“Don’t you make my blood come out!” Randy Johnson scolded a lunging wolf. Randy picked up Turbovicki and threw her headfirst at the wolf, which crumpled under Turbovicki’s considerable weight.

Randy Johnson was surprised to find herself winded after that single throw. Turbovicki was at least as heavy as three Panpans. “Finally,” she said between breaths, “a projectile worthy of my throwing prowess!”

Turbovicki was preoccupied fighting off three more wolves with her sword, but grinned at Randy’s approval. It seemed she’d passed the crucial initiation rite.

The wolves were dealt with swiftly, but the party yet stood uneasily, knowing that another round of wolves was just around the corner. Turbovicki felt this tension, and worried that fighting all these _fucking_ wolves would leave no time for Randy Johnson to teach her sports.

As if on cue, Panpan cried out, “Enemies!”

“More wolves,” Dr. Phil said wisely, although it was actually a pretty stupid thing to say.

“No,” Randy Johnson broke into a grin. “This is something...new.”

And new it was to Dragon’s Dogma, but Turbovicki saw the oncoming enemies and felt a flash of déjà vu. These enemies were not monstrous at all. Their clothes were simple and brightly colored, and they wore cheerful grins even as they charged headlong into bloody combat. Most striking of all, they all wielded round, bladeless swords.

Turbovicki looked down at her own rounded weapon, then at her own bright red torso. These were no enemies. These were her people.

Before she could explain this, though, the rest of her party rushed to engage the onslaught. Randy Johnson threw Panpan into the heart of the oncoming crowd, sending them toppling to the ground. Dr. Phil swooped in to make quick work of the fallen enemies, but found them already bested after that single shot. Not dead, but lying still on the ground. Playing dead? Or merely accepting their inevitable failure?

“Interesting foes,” Randy Johnson observed, swiping her hands together to rid them of any Panpan residue. “Much more easily bested than wolves.”

Randy Johnson, though strong, was evidently too dense to see the connection. “I think those were my family,” Turbovicki said, awed.

“My apologies,” Randy Johnson sobered, “Had I known, I would not have-”

“No, it’s okay,” Turbovicki interrupted. “I’m just surprised to see them, here of all places.” She found that she didn't mind Randy Johnson kicking their asses. Blood relatives, Turbovicki had come to learn, meant very little. Her chosen family, her teammates, were what mattered most to her.

An opposing thought, a joyful memory of her mother beating her into submission, passed briefly before Turbovicki’s eyes. Perhaps there was _one_ family member she cared about.

“Perhaps they followed you?” Randy Johnson broke into Turbovicki’s contemplation, still focused on the strange enemies that looked so similar to her new companion.

“That tracks, but why would they attack me? I’ve never even met them,” Turbovicki pondered. Had she committed some great crime in a past life? The only crime she could remember was loving sports too much.

“Peculiar indeed,” Randy Johnson agreed.

While the two meatheads were furiously trying to come up with a single good idea between them, a pack of wolves appeared behind Turbovicki’s fallen kindred. Instead of attacking the vulnerable bodies, they tenderly picked them up in their jaws and carried them away. Randy and Turbovicki remained oblivious.

Randy Johnson noted Turbovicki’s continued distress over this mystery, and offered to comfort her in the only way she knew how. “Would you like me to teach you how to throw things?”

Turbovicki softened. Some thing-throwing would take her mind off things. “I would like that very much, Randy Johnson.”

Panpan was enlisted as volunteer projectile. Randy Johnson and Turbovicki took turns hurling him at crates, wolves, and passers-by. Randy Johnson even allowed Turbovicki the honor of throwing him to the eels.

“He will return to me,” Randy Johnson assured Turbovicki. “God will throw him down from heaven back to earth.”

“We still need a name for this sport,” Turbovicki pointed out. With Panpan gone, and Dr. Phil strictly off-limits, she started throwing the closest things she could find, which were rocks from the ground. This still wasn’t much of a sport, admittedly, but she enjoyed it, and that’s really all you need for a great sport.

Randy Johnson followed Turbovicki’s lead. She hurled a rock into the distance, and, without meaning to, hit a passing harpy. The bird-human exploded from the impact, raining feathers and flesh onto the two of them.

Randy Johnson stood utterly still, enraptured in a kind of spiritual bliss. “I feel...” she whispered, “...complete.” She looked down at Turbovicki, and realized that exploding a bird was only part of the reason for her utter joy.

Turbovicki returned Randy Johnson’s gentle stare. She felt something, a yearning that surpassed even her yearning for sports, but she wasn’t sure if Randy Johnson felt it as well. “You wanna keep throwing things?” she offered, trying to keep things light.

“There’s only one thing I want to throw,” Randy Johnson said intensely. She put a hand on Turbovicki’s shoulder, but made no move to grapple her into throwing position. Turbovicki felt that wherever Randy meant to throw her, it was as far away from wolves as possible.

“Randy Johnson loves Panpan, and Dr. Phil,” Randy Johnson went on. Turbovicki could find nothing to say. “But sometimes, Randy Johnson tires of these men.”

“Men are the worst,” Turbovicki chuckled weakly.

Randy Johnson’s self-assured chuckled filled in Turbovicki’s awkwardness. “Most men _are_ awful. Some are okay. But all fall short of fulfilling a certain...desire.” Randy Johnson looked back down at Turbovicki, needfully, pleading for something which neither of them could name.

Turbovicki laid a hand on Randy Johnson’s, meditatively. “We’re...supposed to be doing sports,” she said halfheartedly. The word 'sports' no longer rang so truly from Turbovicki's lips. Sports, her origins, her mother, none really mattered right now. Randy Johnson’s enormous, powerful body took up her whole world. Not literally, but pretty close to literally. Randy Johnson was big.

Randy Johnson smirked, and softly probed Turbovicki’s lower lip with her thumb. “I think I know a different sport we can try.”

Panpan chose this moment to yell about wolves, but Dr. Phil shushed him and pulled him aside, knowing that Randy Johnson would very much not appreciate being interrupted right now. He would have to take over throwing Panpan for a while. Randy Johnson would be busy elsewhere.

Turbovicki took Randy Johnson’s cue, and smashed her concave face into Randy’s. What Turbovicki lacked in experience and defined facial features, she made up for in earnest desire. Both she and Randy Johnson were new to physical intimacy—their respective games, and, honestly, games in general, were very man-heavy—but their combined athletic ability made even the smallest, clumsiest of gestures a divine feat of passion.

Dr. Phil watched Randy Johnson carry Turbovicki into the nearest hut, whose residents spewed from every door and window a moment later. He and Panpan would have to handle the wolves themselves for a while longer, it seemed.

“I don’t know what I should be doing,” Turbovicki admitted, sighing into the floor alongside a naked Randy Johnson. The hut’s single bed had broken immediately when Randy Johnson had impulsively thrown Turbovicki onto it, so they had had to make do with the rugs laid on the dirt floor.

Though her thoughts still plagued her, Turbovicki was physically content. This made one more sport she excelled at.

Randy Johnson turned onto her side to face Turbovicki. “If it is counseling you seek, you’d best speak to Dr. Phil. He is the best doctor in the world.”

“But I’m not injured.” Not besides some bruises and a few friendly nail-and-teeth marks, which Turbovicki would be loathe to explain to anyone.

“He’s a doctor of psychology. And he’s also Oprah’s best friend.”

Turbovicki couldn’t parse either of those credentials. But there were two of them, so one of them had to be good.

After allowing herself a few more minutes of simply admiring Randy Johnson’s lovingly-crafted body, Turbovicki forced herself to don her clothes and speak to Dr. Phil. She found him surrounded by a pile of wolf corpses, tending to one of Panpan’s many recent injuries.

Dr. Phil winked as she approached. “The conquering heroes return!” he announced gleefully.

Turbovicki felt a twinge of guilt, seeing her two teammates so busted up. “Sorry we left you to fend for yourselves.”

Dr. Phil shrugged. “If you’re horny, fuck.”

“Dr. Phil if you ever say something so goddam stupid again I’m throwing you to eels,” Randy Johnson yelled from inside the hut.

“I...” Turbovicki stammered, “Randy Johnson said I should speak to you. About...life stuff.”

“Of course,” Dr. Phil said, patting an empty tree stump beside him.

Turbovicki took a seat. “I just...I want to master all sports...”

“Naturally.”

“But I can’t help feeling that there’s something else I’m meant to do.”

Dr. Phil nodded solemnly. “Does this have anything to do with the event from earlier? Seeing your relatives?”

“Maybe,” Turbovicki admitted. “But that’s just part of it. I’ve been wondering about this since I began my journey, way back in chapter 1. I need to find the game I came from. And...I think I need to find my mom.”

“Looking into your past may be cathartic, but it won’t make you whole,” Dr. Phil advised. “The only way to do that is by facing the future.”

“Dr. Phil you’re so wise,” Turbovicki said admiringly.

“I know.” Dr. Phil stood up from the stump. It had been 45 seconds since the last wolf attack, so more wolves would be coming soon. Turbovicki rose and readied her sword, but Dr. Phil reeled her back in.

“One more piece of advice,” Dr. Phil said. “It’s dangerous to go alone. Take this,” Dr. Phil handed her a large piece of paper in the shape of the letter ‘L’.

“Why would this be useful to anyone.”

“It’s just what I do.” Dr. Phil whipped around and started chopping at the wolves that were, of course, surrounding them yet again. Turbovicki and Panpan joined the charge, followed soon after by a battle-ready Randy Johnson, fighting joyfully alongside Turbovicki once more.

The four teammates rallied behind Dr. Phil’s mighty battle cry against the wolves:

“You're Ugly, You're Disgusting, I'm Gonna Kill You, Give Me $200!”

A safe distance away from Randy Johnson’s campsite, the wolf pack deposited the fallen Foot Clan at the feet of their master. The Foot Clan rose from the ground knelt in homage to their glorious leader.

“You’ve done well in tracking her down,” Dick Cheney said with approval. “But heed my warning: Turbovicki must be kept alive. We need her, if we are to achieve our ultimate goal. Her destruction comes after.”

“Master,” Cole blurt out, raising his bowed head, “how did you find us? How did you...” he gestured at the wolves, sitting attentively in a ring around them, ready to be commanded.

Dick Cheney raised a hand, and one of the wolves placidly laid its head beneath it. “Dog and Cheney have become one,” he explained.

Cole and the other members of the Foot Clan grinned at their powerful leader.

“Turbovicki is the key,” Dick Cheney said to his loyal followers, reveling in the genius of his plan finally coming to fruition, “to getting us home, once and for all.”


	5. Jolf!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You think you can beat me? Daz, all-star golfer?” 
> 
> “Probably, if you keep trying to land your ball in other people’s skulls instead of the hole.”

“Hi, I’m here for-” Turbovicki checked her notes, “-Ball Chess?”

The normal-looking man at the game’s entrance glanced over at her, and his expression immediately soured. “Oh. Another one of _them_.”

Turbovicki, though offended, kept her cool. “I am Turbovicki of the Turbofamily, eventual master of all sports,” she answered with more than a little condescension. “And who are _you?_ ”

“Tiger Woods, golfing champion,” the man snapped. He kept his wary eyes on the newcomer, but lowered his guard. “You’re...not with the other two, are you?”

“The other two?” Turbovicki echoed.

Tiger Woods nodded toward the golf course. “The Monsters.”

It seemed that her fellow Monsters were far-reaching indeed. “No, I'm not with them.” Turbovicki said honestly. “It’s pure coincidence. Lucky, really, that I’ll have not one but two golfing teachers.”

“’Lucky’ isn’t the word I’d use,” Tiger Woods grimaced. “You stay safe out there, kid.”

Turbovicki nodded and headed into PGA Tour '08. She wondered what Tiger Woods meant by ‘safe’. It was just golf, after all. What was the worst that could happen?

It was not hard to pick out the two Monsters from the other competitors. One had a disturbingly liver-spotted face stuck in a perpetual froggish glare, while the other was...more of a horrible porpoise-boy.

The former, more human-shaped Monster waved her over. "Another challenger to the mighty Daz!" He called out. “I never imagined I would meet someone with even less nose-meat than I!”

Turbovicki approached the two with caution. She could not stop staring at the second, shorter Monster. “I may not be an expert on human faces, but you...don’t seem to have one.”

“I’m human, baby!” Garret gargled through the appendage that seemed to an enormous, misshapen nose. “I’m a nasty little boy!”

Turbovicki was unconvinced. “There is no possible way that you originated from this game.” Daz’s face was hideous in its own right, but Garret’s face redefined the very metric by which ‘ugliness’ could be judged.

“I come from the space gravy! I'm here to visit my best friend Daz!” Garrett lisped. He jittered with excitement, his blonde locks passing in and out of his child-sized body. “Quit stallin’, let’s golf!”

“Mmyes, let’s jolf!” Daz agreed.

Turbovicki cautiously followed the two of them to the first hole. A small crowd had gathered near the surrounding woods, dangerously close to where they would be golfing.

Garrettt was in a chipper mood, but Daz was fuming before the match even started. Maybe due to Turbovicki’s presence, or maybe his ‘sourpuss’ meter was just turned all the way up. He approached the tee, turned his body a good 45 degrees away from where the hole was, and shot the golf ball toward the crowd. The ball failed to actually hit any of them, but they caused a big enough commotion to bring a smug smile to Daz’s face.

Turbovicki looked to Garretttt, hoping for some assurance that this wasn’t how golf was meant to be played, but Garretttt was taking an even more direct approach to harassing the spectators, running and leaping at them with no regard for the course’s borders.

Telling herself that Garretttt had to be forfeiting his turn, Turbovicki lined up her shot, and hit the ball with all her might. It landed in a sand pit. Still much better than Daz’s shot, which had ended up in the woods somewhere behind the panicked crowd.

Turbovicki started walking toward her ball, but Daz pulled her back, whipping her around to face him. “I know what you’re doing, newbie.”

“I’m golfing.”

“You think you can beat me? Daz, all-star golfer?”

“Probably, if you keep trying to land your ball in other people’s skulls instead of the hole.”

“Oh, I’ll get my ball in a hole, you wait and see.”

Turbovicki drew back in disgust, “Was that a nasty-boy joke?”

“No, that’s Garrettttt’s brand,” Daz nodded toward the alien boy, who was proudly trotting out of the woods with something in his mouth. Something...squirming. “I just meant that I was going to put a hole in your head. With the golf ball.”

Turbovicki nodded through Daz’s explanation, quickly losing interest in his threat. “Yeah, I got it.”

“Good!” Daz barked, spraying Turbovicki’s face with nasty spit. Turbovicki was more scared of his breath than Daz himself. Yeah, Turbovicki decided, he seemed like the kind of guy to eat raw onions, and his breath stink confirmed it.

Garrettttt passed by Turbovicki as she contemplated Daz’s nasty eating habits. He was gnawing on a freshly-killed bird. Turbovicki stared, and he gave her a gore-streaked smile.

“I’m gonna send you back to the gravy!” he chirped. Turbovicki could tell without clarification that it was a threat.

If her competitors' warnings had any effect on Turbovicki, it wore off before they even cleared the second hole. Garrettttt was sprinting around the course and the surrounding non-golf-related areas, scaring small children and adults alike. Daz, as usual, was putting more energy into attacking the crowd than golfing. Turbovicki's own golf skill was unexemplary, but she at least didn't waste shots trying to scare off the spectators.

Turbovicki's constant golfing pushed Daz over the edge. Naturally, instead of focusing on golfing better, he resorted to more threats. “Enough of this! You’ve insulted Daz for the last time. It’s time for _Battle Golf_.”

Turbovicki remained unthreatened. “I...somehow doubt that you have a firm grasp on the rules of ‘Battle Golf’.”

Daz smirked and snapped his fingers, and his long golfing pants were instantly replaced with a pair of Free Shorts. Turbovicki's eyes widened. This was not part of The King's Game.

“We’re Monsters. We make our own rules.”

On that cue, the landscape crumpled like tinfoil, transforming into a pointy, low-poly approximation of the pristine golf course it had once been. Where before there had been peaceful greenery, it was now 90% thrashing water features and quicksand traps.

Daz grinned at his creation. _This_ is what golf was meant to be.

"How are you doing this?" Turbovicki shouted over the dull rumble of terraforming in progress. 

"I am an all-star golfer," Daz muttered under his breath. "It is _golf_ that is wrong!"

"Yeah! Get nasty!" Garretttttt encouraged.

"You've made a big mistake," Turbovicki said grimly. "I may not have mastered Ball Chess, but it's a boring sport anyway so it doesn't count. And anyway, I'm still a kick-ass swordsman."

"Then let's see it, girly!" Daz challenged, summoning a golf ball from thin air and aiming it at Turbovicki's generous target of a forehead.

Turbovicki's sword sprung into her hand. No more golf. Time for swords. She rushed toward Daz, shouting, " _I'm not a girl!"_

Daz made his shot. Turbovicki continued forward, barely dodging the oncoming golf ball, and struck Daz across his sneering face. He staggered, but his jacked legs kept him upright.

Turbovicki reared for a second strike, but a hard, round object struck the back of her head like a supersized bullet. She fell forward and totally ate AstroTurf.

Gasping, she turned to look up at Daz. His club still hung lazily at his side—he couldn't have made a second shot. She felt the golf ball-sized impression on the back of her skull. She sputtered, "You...how...?"

Daz summoned another golf ball, but instead of letting it fall to the ground, let it hover above his palm. "I have psychic powers. But only on golf balls."

Turbovicki shouted, despite her incredible headache, "If you used these powers like they're supposed to be used, you might be a decent golfer!"

"I'm not a decent golfer," Daz knelt to stare Turbovicki in the eyes, "I'm an _all-star_ golfer _."_

Turbovicki arched her head back and slammed it into Daz's face. Her head rang with pain, but Daz fell back as though hit by a wrecking ball. Not too far off, since Turbovicki's head was about the same shape and weight of your average run-of-the-mill wrecking ball.

Turbovicki took her opportunity to get back on her feet. Keeping an eye on Daz's floating golf ball, she darted up a recently-formed cliffside overlooking a water feature, hoping that Daz's proclivity to aim toward hazards would work in her advantage.

She heard a distorted cry from the water below. Garrettttttt was sprinting across the water, headed toward an unlucky boat. “I need my medicine!”

Turbovicki had seen what kind of 'medicine' Garrettttttt drew his power from, and shuddered at the thought. She was fast, but she couldn't run across the water like Garrettttttt could. She'd have to deal with the alien boy later.

While Turbovicki was distracted by Garretttttttt, Daz took another shot at Turbovicki, this time nailing her in the shoulder. Turbovicki tried to move away from the cliffside, but only made it a few steps before teleporting back to her original position, where the same golfball hit her again in the same spot. Again, Turbovicki tried moving away, only to snap back and be hit a third time in her tender shoulder.

She was stuck in a time loop—no, an instant replay.

"If you're such a great golfer," she yelled to Daz between golf ball strikes, "you wouldn't need to milk this single success over and over again!"

Daz's anger got the better of him. He stopped the instant replay loop, and swung his golf club menacingly up at Turbovicki. "Get down here, coward! Let's settle this, once and for all!"

Turbovicki smirked. "Gladly." She took a flying leap off the cliffside, swinging her sword down, striking Daz's raised golf club with a mighty KLANG. Daz used his grossly enlarged arm muscles to throw Turbovicki aside. She landed on her feet, still smirking. Daz was indeed better at combat than at jolf, but that really wasn't saying much.

Turbovicki lunged for a second strike, which Daz again successfully blocked. She took a step forward and swung again, forcing Daz back. Her foe lost a bit of his confidence, trying unsuccessfully to go on the offense, but Turbovicki steadily pushed him back.

Daz's feet caught the edge of another cliff looking over a massive sand trap. He looked down for a split second, giving Turbovicki an opening to land a single strike. That was all that was needed to send Daz toppling down the cliff to the treacherous sand below.

"Destroyed by his own creation," Turbovicki huffed. She looked over the cliffside, expecting to see a bloody mess, but PGA wasn't that kind of game. Also, Daz had summoned a pile of Free Shorts at the last minute to cushion his fall.

"This isn't over!" Daz shouted from below, shaking his fist up at Turbovicki. "You haven't seen the last of Daz!"

"I think I have!" Turbovicki shouted back. She looked over her shoulder at the golf course, which was shifting back to its original, boring form. Turbovicki muttered to herself, "Fuck golf, actually. This sport is the worst."

A little ways off, the water feature that had supported the boat vanished, leaving it stranded amidst plain 'ol grass and trees.

"Aw beans!" Garrettttttttt cursed from the boat's controls. Turbovicki didn't want to think of what Garretttttttttt had done to commandeer the vessel.

Turbovicki casually jogged up to the boat and climbed aboard, towering over Garrettttttttttt. "To be honest," she grinned, "I've been wanting to do this all day." She reared her sword back, and hit Garretttttttttttt right out of the ding dang boat.

A wave of shouts rose around her. She looked out of the boat's window, alarmed at first, but realized it was only the spectators cheering her on. One man yelled above the rest of the crowd, "You've rescued us from those limp-dicks once and for all! Thanks, Turbovicki!"

"How do you-" Turbovicki stopped herself. This man was familiar, not just because he somehow already knew her name, but his face, too, felt like one she knew. "Wait, do you know Jorstin?"

"Yeah, of course I know Justin! He's my..." He trailed off, switching instantly from cheerful to dour. Something was amiss, but he wasn't sure what.

"You have the partial memories, too," Turbovicki recognized. "Are there more like you?"

The man thought for a moment. "Yeah, there's this one guy who looks _exactly_ like me. Check it out-" he waved over another spectator who, at a glance, looked nothing like him. The two of them were clearly from different games: the first from this Tiger Woods game, and the second from whatever hell Garrettttttttttttt had crawled out of. They weren't Monsters, exactly; they were about as human as the other spectators. But as Turbovicki looked closer, she saw that they were, in fact, identical. Or, more accurately, they were two copies of the same original.

"Who are you?"

The two spoke in eerie unison: "We are Griffin."

First Justin, now Griffin. They must be very important individuals for their existence alone to bleed over into Turbovicki's reality. "Do you, too, have otherworldly knowledge? Anything that could help me, maybe?"

"Your rival is coming," they said, still speaking as one voice. They grinned, amused, as though Turbovicki's struggles were merely some form of twisted entertainment. "The final battle approaches."

"A rival? Who?" Turbovicki pressed.

The Griffins smirked, sharing some kind of inside joke. "Dick Cheney."

Turbovicki clenched her muscular jaw. She now had a name for the evil adversary that plagued her past lives' memories. Yet another facet of her impossible quest. 

"I thank you for your wisdom, Griffins," Turbovicki said, but the two of them had started singing Carly Rae Jepson together and arguing over which one of them got to sing the melody, so Turbovicki let them be. 

Even more troubling than the existence of a rival was the raw power Daz had displayed. Turbovicki was certain that it was Daz's status as a Monster that allowed him such ungodly control over the game's landscape. But she had not seen Monsters use these abilities before...was it a skill limited only to certain Monsters? And if so, was Turbovicki among them?

Turbovicki had no evidence of her otherworldly power, but she felt certain it must be there. Her quest, her very existence, could not be explained by normal means. Her abilities lay beyond traversing between games and summoning a bladeless sword that still somehow hurt people.

Jorstin and the Griffins had pointed her in the right direction, but Turbovicki doubted they could provide solid information about this. Her best bet lay with a fellow Monster, one with abilities similar to Daz's. Though hopefully one who wasn't such a fucking sourpuss.

Turbovicki groaned. She wasn't very plugged in to the network of Monsters, but she knew at least one person who was. She didn't have a phone, and doubted PGA had one she could use, but she did still have DM's. Too bad she only knew of one game that allowed them.

"Hey...Dad?" She typed to Toucan Dan. "I have a few questions for you."


	6. D&D (Dancing and Dressage)

Turbovicki didn't know what this game Toucan Dan had invited her to was, but it definitely wasn't Bloodborne. No fighting game had this many glow sticks and sick beats. Toucan Dan and his date were enmeshed in a crowd of other dancers, and Turbovicki had to elbow her way through to speak with him.

"This is a horrible place to talk!" She yelled at Toucan Dan over the pounding music. Dancing bodies swarmed her from all sides, but even the craziest of dance moves couldn't knock Turbovicki off her feet.

Toucan Dan, distracted by his gnarly-haired dancing partner, motioned excitedly between the two of them. "A week ago!" He shouted back at Turbovicki with a smile. "At the wrestling thing?"

Arby 'The Meathead' McDonald, realizing Toucan Dan was talking about him, turned and gave Turbovicki a wide one-toothed smile. Arby's wizard shirt was pulled up and knotted into a sexy crop-top. The thong on Arby's downstairs didn't hide as much of the supportive message tattooed across his thighs as Turbovicki would've preferred.

"No, I don't care about your messed up love life!" Turbovicki kept yelling, trying to avoid accidentally looking at Arby's p'zone. "And I don't want to dance! I need to talk to you!"

"Don't want to dance?" Toucan Dan said coyly. "'Don't'? Or 'can't'?"

Turbovicki wondered for a split second if Toucan Dan had actually brought her here as part of her training, to master the sport of dance. But no, she realized, he just brought her here because he was gay and an asshole. He was too busy making goo-goo eyes at Arby to pay any attention to her.

With her powerful sports arms, Turbovick picked Toucan Dan up off the dance floor and deposited him in one of the booths along the far wall, where Turbovicki could hear herself think. "Dan," she huffed, "we seriously need to talk."

Toucan Dan rolled his eyes, but didn't move to leave. He waved down a waiter and ordered some drinks, then turned to Turbovicki with his full attention. "You have five minutes, kid. I slipped the DJ a fiver and my and Arby's song is coming up soon."

"Gross. And not important," Turbovicki brushed aside. "I met someone in PGA Tour '08, someone with wicked powers. Controlling golf balls with his mind, summoning Free Shorts...any of that ring a bell?"

Toucan Dan nodded sagely. "Hmm. Yes, a select few Monsters do have supernatural abilities. The especially powerful ones tend to be ostracized, especially your-" Toucan Dan caught himself, cutting off the sentence with a fake cough.

Turbovicki held her stoic expression. She didn't need Toucan Dan to clarify who he meant.

"Like here, for example," Toucan Dan rambled on. "This dance club is technically part of Dragon Age: Inquisition, but it's more of a quarantine. She built it herself, as a way to channel and contain her powers, keep herself from screwing up the rest of the game more than she already has."

"She?"

Toucan Dan nodded toward the sound booth. "DJ Slime Time, obviously."

Turbovicki turned to look at the woman Toucan Dan was pointing to. The music she was blasting through the speakers was indeed 'the slap', but Turbovicki hoped there was more this slime DJ ha to teach her. "Thanks, Dan," she said curtly, rising to leave.

"Dad?" Toucan Dan said hopefully.

"That was a one-time thing to get you to meet with me," Turbovicki said flatly.

Toucan Dan pouted, slumped in his seat. "Fine," he said, seeing that Turbovicki would show him no pity. He glanced up and shot her a wink. "But just you wait, kid."

Turbovicki stood in front of the DJ booth, waving her arms frantically. "Hey! Hey! Grandma Slime!"

DJ Slime Time, who was wearing a chunky pair of cat-ear headphones, looked up at her for a moment, then back down at her controls.

Turbovicki scowled. She reached across the booth and yanked off the headphones, shouting, "Hey! I have something important to talk to you about!"

"DJ Slime Time doesn't have time for talking to chumps like you," the DJ rolled her eyes. Sticking out her tongue and shooting Turbovicki a very un-grandma-like gesture, DJ Slime Time launched into the air with a snarky "BYYYEEEEE!"

Turbovicki grabbed onto DJ Slime Time's leg just before she vanished into the ceiling. As she held as tightly as possible to the DJ's slimy leg, a blur of incomprehensible colors and shapes swirled around her. Turbovicki mashed her tiny eyes shut. DJ Slime Time was traveling through places not meant to be seen by any mortal player.

When Turbovicki felt solid ground beneath her feet once more, she dared to reopen her eyes. The 'solid ground' she felt was really the uppermost point of a windmill, just behind the spinning blades. And next to her was DJ Slime Time, astride a horse with three of its hooves standing sturdily on the empty air.

"I'm not interested in role-playing bullshit," DJ Slime Time sneered down at Turbovicki. "I'm good at three things: dressage, sick beats, and breaking the game Dragon Age: Inquisition."

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about. The third one, anyway," Turbovicki said, barely able to keep her eyes off the ground far, far below. Her multiple fatal cliff encounters had left her with a residual fear of heights. Thank the Creators there were no bikes in this game.

DJ Slime Time cocked her head. Recognition shimmered across her slimy face, and her expression softened. "The damage I dealt to this world was an unfortunate accident. This game was not made to contain my awesome powers. You, too, are blessed with incredible power, even by Monster standards," DJ Slime Time explained. "Even through many defeats, and many grisly biking accidents, you live on. But there is another whom death cannot touch. She is the one you seek."

Turbovicki's face paled. "Mom."

"DJ Slime Time smiled wryly. "You know her by that title, yes. You will soon learn of her other, more sinister names."

"Sinister?" Turbovicki wished she had more than vague details to go on. "Why is everyone so weird about my mom? What did she do?"

"For now, nothing." DJ Slime Time looked ominously into the distance. "But given the opportunity...she would use her powers to end the world. Not just our world, but the world that encapsulates it."

Turbovicki shook her head. Even though her only memory of her mom was of having her ass beat at wrestling, she still felt a familial loyalty. "You're wrong. You can't accuse someone of something they _might_ do. It's unfair—everyone deserves a chance."

DJ Slime Time sighed. "All I can do is warn you, child. Your will is strong to a fault. Seek your mother if you must, but know that she acknowledges no law, save her own."

Turbovicki stared back up at DJ Slime Time. If she was less certain of her goals than she had been before, she didn't show it.

DJ Slime Time forfeit the staring contest. "If you will not accept my advice, will you at least allow me to grant you my favor?"

Turbovicki nodded solemnly. DJ Slime Time pressed a slimy index finger to Turbovicki's forehead.

"Though I myself will be unable to come to your aid," DJ Slime Time whispered, "I grant you my steed, which knows neither fear nor physical limitations. It will come, in your moment of greatest need."

DJ Slime Time pulled her finger away. Turbovicki didn't feel any different, just a little greasy. She really needed to wash her face.

"Later skater," DJ Slime Time said. She nudged her horse's flanks with her heels, and the horse ran sideways at an impossible angle, slipping between air molecules into an entirely different dimension.

"Thanks, Grandma," Turbovicki muttered. DJ Slime Time's warning sunk uneasily into her thoughts. She still had no clear idea of what her home game was, or where she could find her mother. If anything, she had more questions now than before, and nothing more to show for it than a greasy thumbprint of support.

The game, realizing that Turbovicki probably shouldn't be allowed to stand on top of a windmill, forced her back to the dance club, the last 'normal' place she had been. The rave was still going strong despite DJ Slime Time's absence--a preset playlist was playing from her Walkman. At the center of the dance floor, Toucan Dan and Arby were slow-dancing to 'Rule, Britannia'. Everyone was having a good time except Turbovicki, who was still rattled by her encounter with DJ Slime Time. The cryptic warning about her mom and the slime coating her forehead made Turbovicki feel sick to her stomach. She began to wonder if she'd come here for nothing.

_No,_ Turbvoicki wrestled her self-pity down, _that's bullshit_. She was at a dance club, and her lifelong quest could wait. Toucan Dan had the right idea—she should just enjoy the moment and give dancing a shot. She couldn't be worse at dancing than she was at golf.

Turbovicki noticed a golden-faced woman looking at her from the bar. Turbovicki actually had to shield her eyes as she approached; the woman's complexion was shinier than human skin had any right to be. Was it makeup? Or some kind of robotic face-mask?

"I'm Halo," the woman said in a soft, singsong voice.

"Ahh...Vicki," Turbovicki replied. Compared to Halo's lustrous timbre, Turbovicki spoke as though she was gargling rocks.

Halo 666 smiled and fluttered her too-human eyes. They were the only definitively human thing about her—her golden complexion stopped sharply at her collarbone, and her blue chin-length hair was more like a helmet.

"So, uh," Turbovicki mumbled, trying not to show how nervous she was. "Are you...is gay?"

Halo laughed, but looked over at Turbovicki with interest. "I'm pretty sure all us lady Monsters are gay," she purred, playing absentmindedly with a straw.

"I'm not a lady," Turbovicki corrected reflexively. "I mean, I'm an agender lesbian, so-"

"Nice," Halo 666 nodded. "Sorry for assuming. Your character profile lists you as 'female'."

Turbovicki shook her head in exaggerated frustration. "The gender binary, right? Offering only those two options is Miyamoto's only character flaw."

"Him and every other video game designer," Halo 666 laughed in agreement. "So we gonna dance or what?"

"Really?" Turbovicki yelped overeagerly.

"Definitely" Halo 666 nodded slowly. "You're fuckin' ripped, dude. Let's do this nasty thing."

Turbovicki didn't need any more convincing. She and Halo dragged each other to the dance floor and starting doing something resembling dancing. The other dancers wisely gave them some space, sensing that Turbovicki was a bull just looking for china to break. Arby and Toucan Dan nodded in approval.

Under the music, Turbovicki heard an ethereal whisper of approval. " _Gay rights,_ " said DJ Slime Time, though only Turbovicki seemed to be able to hear it.

Turbovicki opened her mouth to ask if Halo had heard DJ Slime Time's voice, but a jolt of pain in her legs turned her words into a coarse gasp. Her knees buckled, sending her nearly to the floor, clinging to Halo for support. Before Halo could ask what was wrong, the pain passed as suddenly as it had come, leaving Turbovicki with a tingly feeling in her calves.

Turbovicki tentatively bent and unbent her knees. With just that slight motion, she flew upward, high enough to touch the ceiling, higher than any amount of physical conditioning would make possible. Another divine favor, courtesy of DJ Slime Time.

Turbovicki dropped back to the dance floor, beaming at Halo 666.

"That was wild," Halo laughed nervously. "You good?"

Turbovicki took hold of Halo, pulling her into an intimate slow-dance position, and using her new abilities, sent the two of them floating gently in the air above the other dancers. Turbovicki had a feeling that this was exactly why DJ Slime Time had shared her powers with her: that good good gay shit.

"Everything's perfect," Turbovicki sighed contentedly into Halo's neck. "Just perfect."

At the end of the night, Turbovici and Halo 666 were among the last ones in the club.

"Can I, uh, get you a drink?" Turbovicki offered, nodding toward the unmanned bar.

Halo's overly-detailed face contorted into a goofy frown. "My dad won't let me drink," she said regretfully, nodding to a green-and-yellow cat, who was glaring at them from across the room.

"I can take him," Turbovicki stated casually.

"I'd rather you didn't," Halo 666 chided. "But if you like...I know somewhere I'd like to take _you_."

Turbovicki blushed. Lights from the disco ball overhead sparkled in Halo's 3D-vision eyes, making them appear even more striking than usual. There was no reason Turbovicki's detour from her epic quest had to end quite yet.

"Yes, please," Turbovicki said, smoothly as a cheese grater gift-wrapped with sandpaper.

Halo 666 laughed and twined her arm around Turbovicki's. The disembodied voice of DJ Slime Time whispered again in Turbovicki's ear (hopefully for the last time that night), " _Here, child, take these ;)"_

_"_ How did you say that with your human mou-" Turbovicki began to say, but realized that she seemed to be talking to herself. "Nevermind," she shook her head, and stuck her free hand into her pocket.

Turbovicki felt something slimy, something that she definitely hadn't put into her pockets herself. Fearing the worst, Turbovicki withdrew a handful of loose condoms, lubricated with DJ Slime Time's signature sauce.

"Grandma!" Turbovicki complained to the empty club.

" _You're welcome ;) BYYEEEEEE!"_


	7. Combat (Physical)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turbovicki had to admit, Halo 666 already had her figured out, as far as entertainment went. Soul Caliber was a carnival of carnage, an endless display of combative prowess. And there was virtually no way to communicate with other people, so it was an ideal game for Turbovicki to drown her problems in blood.
> 
> Too bad the game was all but abandoned.

Turbovicki and Halo 666 sat outside an internet café (which is, of course, a café on the internet, where the video games live). Halo picked at the vegetables garnishing her plate of fish. She had ordered a salad, and this café didn't even serve fish, but the waiter had brought her fish anyway. This always happened, no matter what she ordered, and she had developed a strong distaste for seafood.

Turbovicki felt guilty biting into her hamburger, but with everything she had to process, she needed the brain food more than she needed to be polite.

"I feel like I've lost the narrative," Turbovicki thought out loud. "On one hand, I want to master all the sports. But there's also this thing with my missing game, and my mom..."

Halo 666 grimaced at both her unwanted fish and Turbovicki's conundrum. "Perhaps there is no narrative," she suggested. "If my half-robot brain knows anything, and it does know most things, it's that our videos rarely have satisfying endings."

"Videos?" As she polished off her burger, Turbovicki pushed her fries toward Halo. Vegetarians could eat French fries, right?

"Sorry," Halo shook her head. "I forget, not everyone has all-encompassing robo-knowledge. " She accepted a few French fries while thinking of how to explain. "The 'videos' are...our lives, put simply. When the video ends, we cease to exist. And yet..."

Turbovicki nodded nervously at the unspoken paradox. Defying reality had become an everyday occurrence for her. "DJ Slime Time told me that my mom had the power to alter reality. Maybe I do, too."

"Well, probably don't do that," Halo advised. "Things broke pretty bad for P...your mother. Stick to the sports thing. That's your canonical life mission."

There were a dozen questions Turbovicki wanted to ask Halo, but guessed that she wouldn't get any satisfying answers. Halo 666 was on a whole other level of fourth-wall breaking. "Sure," Turbovicki agreed half-heartedly. She couldn't shake DJ Slime Time's warning from her thoughts, but even if she wanted to find her mom, she wouldn't know where to begin. Halo 666 certainly wasn't about to tell her.

"Why not go back to your roots?" Halo 666 chirped. "I know a great online fighting game you could try. It might be good for you to burn off some steam."

Engaging in some bloodsport did sound relaxing. And maybe even romantic. "You're right," Turbovicki acquiesced. "Do...you want to come with?"

"Hon, you know I'm aaaall about finishing them fights. But my dad made me promise I'd go monster-hunting with him today. For bonding and stuff. You know how catdads are."

Turbovicki nodded, not comprehending in the slightest. She was used to feeling out-of-the-loop in regards to parental shit, but this was a loop that included Halo 666 and Halo 666 alone.

"Hit me up later," Halo winked, "if you're not too busy seducing every sexy Monster you meet."

Turbovicki laughed, but it was really only partially a joke. Halo's suggestion didn't sound half bad. It wasn't even that far-fetched: there were only like six non-male Monsters. At least according to the wiki.

Meowster Chief made no effort to hide his disapproval when he came to pick Halo 666 up in his pirate ship, but neither Halo nor Turbovicki really gave a fuck. What was he gonna do? He was just a widdle kitty cat. 

But that meant he probably wouldn't be jazzed about giving Turbovicki a ride. Guess that meant she'd be walking to Soul Caliber.

Turbovicki had to admit, Halo 666 already had her figured out, as far as entertainment went. Soul Caliber was a carnival of carnage, an endless display of combative prowess. And there was virtually no way to communicate with other people, so it was an ideal game for Turbovicki to drown her problems in blood.

Too bad the game was all but abandoned. Turbovicki was sent directly to the lobby to wait for an opponent. It was an undeniable downside to multiplayer games, but it did give Turbovicki a chance to check out her fellow competitors.

Most of the other players she saw were fucking boring. Like, a sexy anime girl? Turbovicki rolled her eyes. A big scary devil man? Yawn. She started worrying that there wasn't a single fun person playing Soul Caliber.

Finally, Turbovicki was paired up and transported to a floating arena. Turbovicki summoned her sword, bracing herself for a lameass opponent, hoping they would at least be skilled enough to challenge her.

A familiar stranger appeared on the other side of the arena. Turbovicki remembered seeing him before, in Dragon's Dogma. He had been part of the group that had attacked Randy Johnson and her friends out of the blue. He was one of Turbovicki's relatives, another exile of their missing game.

A name floated above the player's elliptical head. _Cole_. An old nemesis, and Dick Cheney's most faithful follower. So if he was here...

"Where's Dick Cheney?" Turbovicki demanded, but Cole was already on the attack. Turbovicki parried his blows easily, but refrained from attacking, still trying to get an answer out of him.

"Why have you been following me?" Turbovicki tried again, taking a different angle. Their meeting couldn't be a coincidence, especially given their history. The chance that they just happened to be playing Soul Caliber at the same time was minuscule.

Cole kept his jaw set, silent, showing no reaction to Tubrovicki's questions. He couldn't do a hit on Turbovicki, but he was gradually pushing her toward the edge of the ring.

Turbovicki could think of only one more question to try. "What happened to our game?" 

Cole paused, widening his eyes at Turbovicki, sword poised mid-strike. Instinct pulled Turbovicki's forearms into a block, but the blow didn't come. Frozen in place, Cole stared at Turbovicki, his eyes no longer glazed over with bloodlust.

Turbovicki waited for an answer. She gave Cole a tentative smile.

"How dare you," Cole sneered, and completed the strike.

Turbovicki took the blow to her shoulder, but held her footing, staying firmly inside the ring. Vengeance consumed any patience Turbovicki had left, and she turned immediately on the offensive, hitting Cole with a combo streak he was powerless to parry.

 _Ring Out!_ The announcer cheered as Cole fell into the void below, splintering into a shower of pixels. Turbovicki readied herself for the second round, but instead popped back into the lobby. Cole had disconnected from the game, the coward.

Turbovicki's blood still boiled for combat, but the unexpected solitude forced her to instead do battle with her thoughts. She was unnerved, not because Cole had gone out of his way to attack her, but because he hadn't provided any explanation for doing so. As if Turbovicki had done something so heinous that Cole could not even name it.

Turbovicki scoured her memories, but couldn't recall doing anything to upset Cole so severely. Could she have forgotten committing such a horrible crime?

No, Turbovicki consoled herself, it was Cole who was wrong. He was just a sore loser. The two of them had always been enemies, and concerning herself with his feelings was a wasted endeavor.

Turbovicki fell into a pattern of fighting and waiting, half-hoping, half-dreading that Cole would come back online. No matter how many fights she won, she couldn't stop replaying their fragmented conversation over in her mind. As much as she wanted to take Halo 666's advice and forget about chasing some intangible purpose, Cole's self-righteous accusation struck at her core. Not even sports could fix this.

It wasn't until Turbovicki received a room request that she broke out of her trance. She didn't recognize the room—"Mëlissa's Place"—but she did recognize the name of her challenger. Part of the name, anyway: "How Griffin Thought He Looked In His 20's".

By the time Turbovicki arrived at the arena, standing opposite a third iteration of Griffin, she could think of nothing but destruction. She didn't dare hope that this Griffin would give her any answers, so she wouldn't bother with any questions. Before Griffin had a chance to open his mouth, Turbovicki charged, and in a single blow sent him careening off the edge of the arena.

Taking a breath between battles, Turbovicki remembered where—and when—she had seen this Griffin before. He, like Cole, was a member of the Foot Clan, another of Dick Cheney's followers. This was no coincidence, this was a coordinated attack. Cole was not acting alone.

"Why are you doing this?" Turbovicki challenged at the start of the second round. "I saw you in Dragon's Dogma. I know you're after me."

Griffin shook his head and raised his sword. Once again, Turbovicki abandoned any hope of conversation and handily defeated Griffin once again.

Round 3, and Griffin reappeared, battered, but ready to fight. Turbovicki was surprised. She had already won two rounds, so even if Griffin were to somehow defeat her this time, she would still win the match. Griffin didn't care about winning. This was bigger than a little good, clean bloodsport between friends.

"What do you want?" Turbovicki shouted across the arena. She dropped her sword to her side, making herself as disarming as possible.

"What else?" Griffin said snidely. "To fix what you started. To enact justice for your crimes."

"What did I even do!" Turbovicki threw her hands in the air.

"You betrayed us, Turbovicki," Griffin accused. Fighting exhaustion from two crushing defeats, he addressed Turbovicki with all the dignity he had left in his weak, un-sports body. "We were separated from our game, our home, thanks to you and your mindless thirst for sports."

"That's not true!" Turbovicki shouted hotly. She was able to keep her cool in physical battle, but Griffin's accusation had her in a mental stronghold. "Everything I've been doing, it's all been so I—so we—can go back to our original game!"

Griffin chuckled unpleasantly. "Stop goofin', Vicki. You know why we can't go back home."

Turbovicki was so enraptured by what Griffin was saying, she failed to block his clumsy strike to her chest. She did not even realize she had been struck until she felt the sensation of falling, off the arena, down into the empty void of losers. Even as the realization that she had lost clung cold against her heart, Turbovicki kept her eyes locked on Griffin's. She couldn't hear him over the rush of void around her, but she could read his lips:

" _You destroyed it_."

Turbovicki requested a rematch as soon as she was able, but, unsurprisingly, Griffin vanished from the player queue, just as Cole had done. The two of them hadn't come here to defeat her—or if that was the case, they had done a pretty shitty job at it. No, they were only acting as messengers for someone else, and Turbovicki only knew one person that someone could be.

Mëlissa herself was the only combatant left in Mëlissa's place, but she was more interested in chatting with Turbovicki than fighting.

"You did pretty good out there, hon. 'Till that last part, anyway," Mëlissa purred, lounging in a position that prominently displayed her thigh apple. "The room's yours if you want it. Them's the rules."

Turbovicki glanced at the list of available players. Griffin and Cole's names were gone, but there was another that caught her eye. "So, I can challenge anyone to fight?" Turbovicki asked, head turned toward Mëlissa, eyes still stuck to the insidious name.

"Sure," Mëlissa shrugged. "But this is _Mëlissa's Place_. Doesn't have to be all fighting, doll." She waved at a nearby tray, holding a wine bottle and two glasses. "And Verizon's footing the bill."

Turbovicki risked a glance back at Mëlissa. She was laying seductively across a fallen tree that was part of the arena's background scenery, probably the closest thing to a bed that you could find in Soul Caliber. Turbovicki gulped. That apple embedded in Mëlissa's right thigh was starting to look incredibly juicy.

"No," Turbovicki chastised herself with a quick shake of her head. "Not now. There's someone I need to talk to first."

Mëlissa sat back up in a disappointed huff. "Fine. I can be patient. Just make sure you keep the room. I really don't feel like watching randos fight all day."

In the short seconds between requesting the match and appearing in the arena, Turbovicki tried to convince herself that this was only a fight. She was taking Halo 666's advice. She was working out her issues one punch at a time. She was not looking for information, especially not from...him.

But once she saw that dastardly, wrinkled face appear before her, Turbovicki knew that that was all a lie.

"Vicki," Dick Cheney smirked. "How lovely to see you again."


	8. Combat (Mental)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "To be honest, I'm surprised that a medieval-fantasy MMORPG has a coffee shop at all."
> 
> "It doesn't really, but coffee shops are a fanfic staple," Tamatha waved her hand dismissively. "I think it'll slide this once."

"I got a coffee and a breakfast special for," the barista read and re-read the name at the top of the receipt, "...Turbo Vicki?"

"Thanks," Turbovicki paused to squint at the barista's nametag. Trying to pronounce the name, Turbovicki garbled a mouthful of vowels, "Ough-li-eurgh?"

"It's Olier," the barista corrected Turbovicki's pronunciation. Turbovicki nodded curtly and took her costly breakfast to a two-seat table near the window. Caffeine wouldn't solve all her problems, but it would definitely make them more surmountable. After spending a rowdy night at Mëlissa's place, Turbovicki needed to settle her thoughts. And, later, her stomach, seeing as she'd somehow accidentally ordered something called 'chewy chili meatloaf'.

"Tamatha Radbody?" Olier called out. Turbovicki looked up, intrigued by such a presumptuous name.

The elf who step forward to claim that name, as well as a large latte and a to-go bag, certainly lived up to it. The counter came up to her mid-thigh, leaving most of her body dangling up to the ceiling like a sexy Jenga tower.

Turbovicki couldn't recall ever having to look up to someone before, other than Randy Johnson. And she had learned she didn't mind it one bit.

Yet more stunning than the elf's figure was her eyes--so wide as to be exposed, yet vulnerability was the last thing they conveyed. This woman kicked ass, physically and spiritually. 

Tamatha turned to start walking to the door--which, to her, was only one and a half steps away from the counter on the opposite side of the room--before Turbovicki waved her to the empty seat at her windowside table. Tamatha glanced over, gave Turbovicki a royal nod, and folded her taffy-stretched body into the modern, minimalist chair.

Intimidation was another sensation Turbovicki was hardly familiar with. It hit her full force when Tamatha turned her enlarged eyes toward Turbovicki, intensity radiating from her yellow cone-shaped head. 

"H-hey, I'm Turbovicki," Turbovicki announced herself, trying to reinforce the strength in her voice by reminding herself that hers was the name of a legendary figure, not a common pleb that someone like Tamatha probably ate for breakfast.

"Tamatha Radbody," the elf sighed, extending a broad, Dracula-curled hand toward Turbovicki.

Turbovicki tenderly took Tamatha's long fingers in her own, and inclined her head to peck Tamatha's knuckles. She withheld a shudder at the thought of what those fingers would be capable of.

"You seem like someone with a lot of wisdom," Turbovicki remarked, shaking aside any more thoughts of Tamatha's heavenly fingers. "And a very interesting skeletal structure."

"Thank you, my child."

"I'm pretty sure I'm older than you? But whatever. I could use some advice."

"I'm in no hurry to return to my realm," Tamatha rolled her eyes, a gesture that confused Turbovicki. She couldn't imagine that a game home to someone as powerful as Tamatha could be boring.

"Well," Turbovicki huffed, deciding to start with a minor annoyance before getting into ultimate-destiny stuff, "my Toucan Dad ran into me on the way over here..."

Turbovicki had been hoping to avoid attention on the way to the cafe. She was straightening her disheveled outfit and checking herself for stray bits of apple. Truthfully, Turbovicki didn't even know which game she was in, but it was her tendency to run into interesting characters at inconvenient times, and Turbovicki preferred not to meet people while looking like an 8-bit mess.

There were no decent eats in Soul Caliber, and the only option nearby was some place called Hot Food Lucky Chest. The only comforting thing about that name was that the word 'food' was in the title.

"Vicki!" Turbovicki startled halfway through readjusting her sports bra. She should've guessed. It had been at least a chapter and a half since she'd last seen her fellow Bloodbournian. Toucan Dan was due for a reappearance, much to her (but not her author's) annoyance.

"I'm a little busy, Toucan Dan. Is this important?"

"Yes."

"Important to me or important to you?"

"Yes!"

"Fine. Just make it quick."

Toucan Dan dropped on one knee, even though he was already shorter than Turbovicki while standing. He reached up to put a hand on her shoulder, but could only reach her hip.

"Turbovicki," Toucan Dan said, adopting his most fatherly voice, "I think you're responsible enough now to have a pet."

This was the last thing Turbovicki expected, or wanted. "I'm...a little busy ri-"

"You're the Chosen One, and Chosen Ones need animal companions," Toucan Dan said with finality. "Besides, I already picked out the perfect one!"

Toucan Dan reached into his fanny pack and pulled out what looked like a big, wrinkled grape. The creature stared mournfully at Turbovicki, silently begging for the sweet release of death.

Turbovicki had no word for what this creature was. "Uh...I think most parents just get their kids a dog..."

"This is better than a dog!" Toucan Dan grinned. "It's Ja'am, the sequel to dogs!"

Turbovicki reluctantly reached out and held the 'dog'. She guessed it was true that sequels were never as good as the originals. "I don't see any possible way this creature could be helpful."

"Pets aren't meant to be helpful," Toucan Dan waved dismissively, "they're for love and companionship."

Turbovicki looked down into Ja'am's grim mask of death. She doubted she'd be getting much of either from this mistake of nature. "It's bad to look at," she commented.

"Bad to look at," Toucan Dan nodded thoughtfully. He gave Turbovicki a quick thumbs-up and disappeared.

Turbovicki sighed. Hopefully the next game she stumbled into would have a humane society where she could dump this thing.

"I'm afraid I don't have a wealth of animal companion wisdom to bequeath to you," Tamatha said regretfully. "You may have thought that I, being a forest elf, would have some animal handling proficiency, but you would be mistaken. In fact, I have a horrendous pet of my own."

Outside the window, Ja'am was chained up next to Tamatha's pet, which looked like a giant, floating eyeball. A gray mist swirled around it, and it would've been a super rad effect if it wasn't for the terrible lag it was causing.

"My eyeball son," Tamatha clarified. "A mark of prestige, but boy howdy does he do a number on my rig."

"I can see that," Turbovicki said. Even Ja'am was moving less fluidly than usual, making him seem like even more of a broken abomination than he already was. "I'd still trade you in a heartbeat."

"Hell no, my child."

"Fair enough. Ja'am's not my biggest issue right now, anyway."

"Then please, do tell." Tamatha unwrapped her order and scowled at the unappealingly-named 'tasty saffron baguette'. "I do not believe I will be finishing this anytime soon."

Turbovicki considered which part of the story to tell next. She wasn't ready to talk about her discussion with _him_ , not yet.

"Okay, so, you're a Monster, right?" Turbovicki asked, as if it wasn't already apparently clear that Tamatha's nine-foot frame wasn't something intended by any right-minded game designer. "Are you ever conflicted about what to do with your awesome Monster-powers?"

"No," Tamatha said curtly. "I use it to buy incredible outfits." She gestured down at her luminous gray dress, which was made even more stunning by the frame it hung upon. It was as if the dress had somehow been designed for Tamatha's gargantuan legs, and those legs alone.

That wasn't the insight Turbovicki had been hoping for, but she couldn't argue with such fabulous evidence. "But, say that buying dresses isn't enough. Say your powers could...I don't know...annihilate a game in its entirety? And you had to contain it with, say, an awesome dance club?"

"You speak of the slime DJ," Tamatha said solemnly.

"Yeah, her," Turbovicki muttered, unsure if speaking her name would be enough to call her clairvoyant attention. DJ Slime Time had thankfully kept out of Turbovicki's thoughts during her recent intimate encounters, but she didn't want to push her luck. "She said I might have the same kind of powers she has, and I could make something bad happen? She wasn't super specific. But she did give me her ability to fly, and she said I could borrow her horse sometime."

"DJ Slime Time granted you the powers of flight _and_ magical horse summoning?"

"Ya, she's basically my gay sugar grandma."

" _I'm super not_ ," DJ Slime Time protested from the ether. Turbovicki shook her head, shaking the slime grandma out of her head like a pesky fly.

"But you don't seem like a particularly malevolent creation," Tamatha reasoned. She picked idly at her tasty saffron baguette. "You fear that you might destroy the world by accident?"

If the Foot Clan were to be believed, Turbovicki had done that once already. "I don't know what I'm going to do next," she sighed. "I've sported all the sports. Kissed all the lesbians. I have a dog now, kind of. So what's next?"

Tamatha nodded encouragingly. "You've reached the end of your journey, yet you do not yet feel you've arrived." Turbovicki nodded back in agreement.

"In my epic journey to become the new forest queen or god or whatever--no one's quite sure--I've learned that one never knows when a quest is completed. Even if you know where you're going, like if there's literally a glowing path telling you where to go, you may leave the tutorial without even realizing it. But you keep going, and a lot of randos may die, but you may also acquire a wicked cool dress."

"I don't...I don't think I want either of those things to happen."

"Irrelevant," Tamatha said impatiently. "Listen to my elf wisdom. You are the one who decides what the quest is, and where it ends. Others may turn to the game for guidance, but not us Monsters. We determine our own win conditions. We conquer the game by redefining what games can be."

Turbovicki took a second to reply, enraptured Tamatha's bold assertion. "And you? Did you redefine your game?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Tamatha gestured back down at her really good dress.

Turbovicki nodded, with less confidence than she was hoping for. Somehow, she didn't think that her arc would be resolved with some shopping. No, there was at least one person out there who was far too invested in Turbovicki to end her story that easily. Hopefully, if someone else reads this after I post it, at least two people.

"There is more to your story," Tamatha observed. Turbovicki realized she'd been fidgeting, and not just from the coffee or the barista staring at her.

"You're right," Turbovicki admitted. "But can we get out of here first? That Olier is starting to give me the creeps."

"You have no earthly idea," Tamatha nodded. Abandoning her largely uneaten food, she reached across the table for Turbovicki's hand and led her outside, leaving their two cursed pets behind.

Turbovicki had to jog to keep up with Tamatha's mile-high legs. She panted, "Whats- the- rush-?"

"Nothing," Tamatha snapped, looking conspicuously over her shoulder. While her head was turned, she and Turbovicki crashed into a small, familiar-looking person.

Tamtha's already-wide eyes somehow widened further in horror. Olier was looking up at the two of them, indignantly, rubbing her bruised shoulder.

"You bump into me _and_ you take my lunch!" Olier cried. Turbovicki glanced furiously between the Olier in front of them and the Olier in the cafe behind them, whom Turbovicki swore she could see still standing behind the counter.

"I shot those arrows real good!" Tamatha insisted. She tried to stamp her foot, but the game just didn't know how to render that kind of action for Tamatha's crazy body, and it turned into a kick aimed straight at Olier's midsection.

Olier spiraled away like punted football, and Tamatha pulled Turbovicki onward. "We must lose the phantom child!" she shouted back to Turbovicki, who was half-running and half-dangling behind her.

"What's her deal with you, anyway?" Turbovicki asked. 

"She gave me a baguette," Tamatha answered. "And I threw a stink bomb at her one time."

"That's it?"

"You don't understand. I already had _five_ _baguettes_."

Turbovicki still didn't understand. But she wasn't in a position to argue, or do much of anything besides try to land her feet back on the ground.

Tamatha pulled Turbovicki into an alley and ducked behind a dumpster. They stood still, silently huddled, for a long minute, then exhaled simultaneously.

"We lost her for now," Tamatha said hopefully.

"So, now what, we live in a dumpster now?"

"Perhaps," Tamatha shrugged. "But in the meantime, you had more to tell me. Finish your tale."

Despite all the time Turbovicki had spent worrying about Dick Cheney, not once had she considered what she would say when she finally met him face-to-face. Dick Cheney had no such reservations, and grinned wickedly at Turbovicki before speaking.

"I was wondering when you'd finally return to clean up the mess you left behind," he said once the pleasantries were taken care of. "You couldn't run forever, Vicki."

"I haven't been running," Turbovicki snarled. "Let's get this straight, Cheney: _I_ found _you_ , not the other way around."

"As you say," Dick Cheney said noncommittally, eyebrows raised to the top of his bald-ass head. "But you have something to discuss with me, do you not?" He spread his hands before him, invitingly. "Then please, let us discuss."

Turbovicki breathed heavily through her nose--her real nose, not the one that was actually her eyeballs. She knew she had to choose her words carefully. Cheney was a master of mental manipulation. "What happened to our game?"

Dick Cheney blinked, not outraged like the other Foot Clanners had been, just mildly surprised. "Do you not remember?"

"No. Honestly, I don't."

Cheney shook his head sadly. "It was lost. Obliterated."

"Because of me," Turbovicki added without thinking.

Cheney answered with the slightest of nods. "Yes. Only a Monster is capable of destroying their own game. You aren't the first Monster to allow their lust for power to consume them."

Turbovicki bristled, fists clenched. "But I don't remember _any_ of it!"

"I wouldn't want to remember either." Dick Cheney looked down at his feet, unable to meet Turbovicki's eyes that were actually a nose. 

Turbovicki stared blankly ahead. Her worst fears had been confirmed. What more was there to be said?

"But I do not seek revenge, Vicki. Quite the opposite, in fact. I wish to offer you some advice."

"I don't want any advice from you, you bald bastard," Turbovicki snapped.

Dick Cheney tutted at her. "Now, Vicki, dear, you didn't come here merely to squabble, did you?" Turbovicki's cheeks brightened with cartoony pink blush.

"Smart girl," Cheney sneered. Turbovicki bit back a reflexive _not a girl_. She had better things to do than debate gender politics with Dick Fucking Cheney.

"It may be possible to undo some of the damage you've done," Cheney said carefully, as though he'd been planning this conversation for ages. And he probably had been, Turbovicki figured, ever since she had destroyed their shared home. "But to do so, you will need to tap into your full Monster powers."

"I don't know how to do that."

"No," Cheney agreed with a glint in his elderly eye, "but your mother does."

Turbovicki narrowed her eyes. "Why would you help me?" This man was her opponent in all her past lives' memories, but she reminded herself that that was history. Perhaps this was an act of good faith, an attempt to bury the hatchet once and for all. Whatever a 'hatchet' was.

"To get back to our home," Cheney said earnestly, invoking Turbovicki's own yearning for her homeland. "If our game is still out there, your mother is the only one who can restore it. Whatever disputes we've had in the past, we all merely wish to return home. Don't you?"

She did, but she also didn't wish her old rival to see her desperation. "Say I did take your advice. What would I need to do?"

"Your mother, she's somewhere very difficult to get to-"

"And hard to leave, apparently."

"Yes." Dick Cheney scowled at being interrupted by this overeager sportsman. He swallowed his wrath, reminding himself of his greater goal, and continued, "It is a place known as the Factory. A mystical place, untethered time. Few have visited, and even fewer have returned."

"'Kay," Turbovicki said, undaunted. "But you can take me there, right?"

"Not me, but I know of someone who can. Someone who has made the journey to and from the Factory many times. I have to warn you, though: it is a dangerous journey, and his many travels have made him a very dangerous man."

Turbovicki sneered confidently. "I'm always a slut for danger. What's this fool's name?"

Tamatha interrupted Turbovicki by squeezing her hand. "I believe it would be safe to leave our hiding place at this point. Perhaps you could finish your story somewhere less repulsive?"

"Good idea," Turbovicki agreed. "I take it that going back to Hot Food Lucky Chest is out of the question?"

"Most certainly."

"I don't know if there's any other coffee shops nearby. To be honest, I'm surprised that a medieval-fantasy MMORPG has a coffee shop at all."

"It doesn't really, but coffee shops are a fanfic staple," Tamatha waved her hand dismissively. "I think it'll slide this once."

"Okay, so...do you want to find another place to eat?"

"I have a place in mind," Tamatha murmured. She tucked a strand of her electric blond hair behind one batlike ear, and smirked. "You mentioned before that you'd kissed all of the lesbian Monsters. That may not be entirely true."

Turbovicki caught Tamatha's hand against her scalp, and gently pushed aside the veil of bangs covering Tamatha's forehead. She traced her thumb across her red facial tattoo, pausing at what looked like an open bullet wound.

"You should...probably put something on that," Turbovicki said in a way that was somehow still sexy.

Tamatha raised her eyebrows and shot Turbovicki a playful look. "Nothing can bring Tammy down."

"We'll see about that."

An alleyway dumpster wasn't an ideal make-out location, as they both found out rather quickly, and Tamatha took it upon herself to break the embrace and lead Turbovicki back to her place.

On their hurried way over, Tamatha remembered the conversation they'd left dangling. "My apologies, dear, but it seems we never got around to solving your problem."

"It's okay, really. Just talking it out was a big help."

"Have you ascertained your plan of action, then?"

"Tonight, I'm spending the night with you. Tomorrow, I hunt down Truck Shepard."


End file.
